


Keep Tugging On My Shirt

by sleeplesscontinuum



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-27
Updated: 2012-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-30 04:38:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplesscontinuum/pseuds/sleeplesscontinuum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles and Erik meet at a rock show, and end up making out in the mosh pit. Modern!AU.</p>
<p>I just wanted to write something short, cute and sweet, because lately all I've been writing is violent, angsty Thorki fics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Tugging On My Shirt

Erik is pushed forward by the crowd, and the stench of strangers sweat fills his nose. There’s such an energy in the air, and Erik is caught up in it that he fails to notice the guy in front of him until he collides with him. 

“Ouch,” the guy mumbles, reaching a pale hand up to rub the back of his head.

“Sorry, man,” Erik yells in the guys ear, over the thumping music, giving him a friendly pat on the back.

“It’s fine,” the guy mouths, his quiet voice mute over the sound of guitars shrieking.

Out of nowhere, the crowd shoves to their left and a buff guy falls toward the guy Erik just hit, sending him tripping to the ground. Erik makes a quick grab for the guy’s shirt, hauling him from the swirl of people and pulls him to safer ground.

The guy breathes heavily for a while, and Erik laughs quietly at him as they sit on the grass away from the commotion of the crowds.

“You okay?” Erik asks, passing him some water.

The guy gulps down the water and Erik tries desperately not to watch the water drip down his chin, and the way it glistens on his deep red lips.

“Yes. Sorry, sorry. I’m fine. My name is Charles,” the guy finally says, in a soft English accent.

“I’m Erik,”

Charles passes the bottle back to Erik, and Erik flinches as his hands graze Charles fingers.

“You come to many of these gigs?” Erik asks in an attempt to divert his attention.

Charles watches with wide ice-blue eyes, staring at Erik pour the last of the water over his hair to cool down.

Charles shakes his head, “Afraid not. Is it that obvious, my friend?”

Erik laughs, and claps a hand on Charles’ back.

“You’ll get used to it,” Erik teases, trying to ignore the blush that paints Charles’ cheeks.

“The mosh pit looks insane,” Erik cackles, observing the group of fans clashing with one another.

Charles eyes widen, in fear, as he stares at the mess of limbs. Bodies smash and every so often someone falls and disappears into the swirl of people dancing along and screaming.

“Come on,” Erik grins, and Charles thinks that Erik has the smiles of a potentially dangerous psychopath.

“Surely you’re joking?” Charles squeaks.

“Oh, come on! It’ll be fun,” Erik says, clambering to his feet.

He holds his hand out to Charles, Erik isn’t usually so bold but he thinks why the hell not? What’s he got to lose? He’ll probably never see the guy again anyway.

Charles’ hand shakes as he places it in Erik’s, and he’s never felt so self-concious. But something about the smile on Erik’s face, that shark-like grin that should make him feel uneasy, comforts him. 

Erik hauls Charles up toward him, with no effort whatsoever. Charles feels slightly envious of the strength in Erik’s toned arms, and feels a sudden wave of hatred for his own pale, thin body. 

“Stay with me okay?” Erik tells him, and tightens his grip on Charles wrist as they head back toward the crowd and loud music.

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving,” Charles whispers, knowing the thudding of drums will drown out his words.

Erik doesn’t hear a thing, but glances over his shoulder and draws back pale pink lips to flash Charles another sharp grin. Charles moves with the push and shove of the crowd, Erik leading the way and weaving through people with expertise.

They make it somewhere near the front, and Erik turns to Charles with a look of pride on his face.

Erik yells something to Charles, but the music and shouting drowns it out. Charles points to the speakers and shakes his head, to silently tell his new companion that he couldn’t hear a word.

Erik leans over, his shoulder pushing against Charles’ and Charles nearly faints right there and then. It’s only then that Charles notices just how broad Erik’s shoulders are, and how his old, tattered band shirt clings to the curves of his body. 

“I said, this - is my - favourite song,” Erik yells over the music, his nose brushes against Charles cheek as he pulls away.

Erik hand lingers on Charles shoulder for just a moment longer than need be, and that’s when Charles decides, Sod it, I’ll probably never see him again anyway. What’s the worst that could happen? So he grabs Erik, by the front of his wet, faded t-shirt, and pulls him down to be level with his face.

Erik looks surprised, but doesn’t pull away. Erik’s blue-green eyes lock on Charles, and he doesn’t move.

Charles’ confidence vanishes, and he lets go of Erik. 

Erik raises an eyebrow, prompting an explanation.

Charles shakes his head, “Nothing,” he mouths.

Erik frowns, and rolls his eyes, and Charles thinks that that’s it. He’s messed it up.

But then Erik grabs Charles, his big hands planted firmly on his shoulders, and leans down. His breath skims along Charles lips, hot and sweet, and Charles is internally screaming Just kiss me. He watches Erik drag his tongue across his own lips, and Charles is itching to run his tongue along Erik’s ridiculous teeth. Dying to get his hands on that chest, run his fingers along those broad shoulders. Fuck, he just wants to touch every inch of that sweaty skin.

The crowd pushes Charles and he lands with a slamming thud against Erik’s lips. At first, he’s so shocked he doesn’t move. Just leans there, one arm around Erik’s neck and the other resting against his chest. 

That is, until he feels Erik kiss him. Erik grabs Charles around the waist, and scrambles up from the ground pulling Charles with him. His hands don’t leave Charles body, even for a moment. He runs them up and down Charles back, clawing at the fabric of his shirt like an animal.

He snarls and thrusts his tongue as far as possible into Charles’ mouth. This isn’t even kissing any more, Charles thinks, this is just mouth-fucking.

Charles tries to keep up with Erik, but he knows it’s hopeless because Erik is running his tongue along Charles teeth, lips and the roof of his mouth with a professionalism that is just ludicrous. 

Erik bites down on Charles’ bottom lip, pulling on it softly, in an less-than-subtle attempt to close the gap between the two of them. 

When they break away, Erik grabs Charles by the wrist, and pulls him through the crowd of dancing bodies.

They arrive back at the patch of grass they’d been sitting on earlier, and Charles’ head is spinning so much he can hardly focus. He falls back against the grass, and Erik crawls on top of him.

“What - was - that?” Charles asks breathlessly.

Erik grins and pulls Charles toward him, his hand reaches to Charles’ face and tilts his face up to him. He runs a thumb across Charles’ lips, which are still kiss-bruised and red, “I told you it’d be fun, didn’t I?”


End file.
